Every Story Has Two Sides
by Eleri McCleod
Summary: Crossover with Stargate SG1. Nine years ago, Faith and Jack met by accident. Neither could ever imagine the future their brief encounter would set in motion. Sequel to Worth Fighting For. Second in the Worth Fighting For series.
1. Every Story

TITLE: Every Story . . .

AUTHOR: Eleri McCleod

EMAIL: complete

CATEGORY: Challenge response, drama, series

PAIRINGS: Faith/Jack friendship

SPOILERS: BtVS – none; SG-1 – none

SEASON: BtVS – 3; SG-1 – pre-series

SERIES/SEQUEL INFO: Part 2 of the "Worth Fighting For" Series. Can be read on its own, but will make more sense if the first story in the series, "Worth Fighting For', is read first.

CONTENT LEVEL: FR13, C, 13+, take your pick

CONTENT WARNINGS: little bit of language, sexual innuendo

SUMMARY: Nine years ago, Faith and Jack met by accident. Neither could ever imagine the future their brief encounter would set in motion.

DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vamipre Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy . Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. I'm just borrowing them for a little while and will return them unharmed. No copyright infringement is intended.

ARCHIVE: TtH, Jackfic, Gateworld, any others please ask

AUTHORS' NOTES: After the overwhelming response to "Worth Fighting For", I discovered that Faith and Jack had a whole lot more of their story to tell me. So months later, after recovering from unexpected hard drive crashes and data loss, lack of internet and exile from civilization, here's the first bit of their continuing story. I can't thank my readers enough for all the encouragement and wonderful comments throughout the posting of "WFF." You guys are great! This fic is dedicated to you. A hug and huge thanks go to Lynette for her wonderful skills as my beta. You catch all the tiny mistakes and giant plot holes and make the story better. As always, any and all feedback is appreciated.

* * *

Every Story . . .

* * *

"Hello, tall and gorgeous." 

Leaning back against the bar, elbows hooked over the old-fashioned rail, Faith gave a predatory smile. She'd spent the last hour weeding through the available stock only to have him walk through the door just as she'd been about to leave. She should have saved herself the trouble.

She followed the man with eager eyes as he ordered a beer a few feet away from her, paid and headed for one of the five tables in the far corner. Sitting with his back to the wall, he portrayed the perfect picture of 'leave me alone.' She planned on ignoring the message. Tossing back the last of the beer in her bottle, she set the empty on the bar and held up two fingers. She slid a five and a suggestive wink to the young man on the other side of the bar. He blushed furiously and the two bottles clunked together as they hit the wood.

Loser, she thought, picking up the beers. Probably still hasn't gotten laid yet. It was too bad. He was cute in a puppy dog kind of way. But her chosen specimen for the night was neither cute nor puppy-like. No, he was all man, exuding heat and moving like he knew what to do with his rangy body.

She tossed her hair back off her shoulder, straightened to her full height and focused on her target. Each step was a calculated move as she made her way across the room.

Five days had passed since she'd left Boston. Five days of running, hiding in the shadows and getting from point A to point B any way she could. That's how she'd ended up in Colorado Springs. Her last ride had decided he wanted to give her a different kind of ride than the one she'd asked for. She'd left him and his truck on the outskirts of town, unconscious with a broken nose and possible broken ribs. He was lucky that's all he had, she thought darkly, face tightening with the memory. She had nothing against sex, but no man was ever going to force himself on her. Not no way, not no how. But the incident had served to show her just how tense she'd become. She needed to let off some steam, to get some of her pent up fear and frustration gone. She needed a clear head and a night of hot, hard sex would go a long way to getting her there.

Her chosen release valve was nursing his beer, hands and eyes on the table. She stopped a few feet away so he'd see the whole package with the first glance. Her leather pants cupped all the right places, her tank top displayed a healthy amount of cleavage and she was more than ready for a little action – all the signs were in place. She thunked one of the beers down on his table, drawing his attention.

"You and I are going to make each other's night."

She didn't know which surprised her more, the look of stunned shock on his face or his answer. She hadn't expected either.

"I'm not looking for any company tonight, but thanks for the offer."

Once she recovered from the shock of her first ever rejection by the male species, she took a long swallow from her beer, letting him get a good look at what he was turning down. "You don't know what you're missing," she said, not letting the surprise show on her face. She wasn't ready to give up just yet.

He smiled slightly, a cock to his head that told her he'd seen the show and wasn't budging. "I'm sure you'll find a substitute easily enough."

"My mistake." She curved her lips into a smile that held a final offer and turned as if to leave. Well, damn. Time to find another fishing hole. This one was tapped out.

"Hold on a second."

Turning back, she raised an eyebrow, keeping her smug grin under control. Or maybe not. Her record was going to remain untarnished yet. "Yeah?"

"You look hungry," the man said, his words a little stilted, as if unsure he wanted to say them. "Sit down and I'll buy you some dinner."

Her stomach took that moment to grumble its protest over the liquid diet of the past few days. It wasn't loud, but she felt the quivering reverberate throughout her entire ribcage. Okay, maybe she could do with some food. And then the sex. "All right." Pulling out the chair opposite him, she twirled it around and sat, straddling the seat. She'd always found it worked miracles with members of the male species for some reason.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a minute." He gave her a long look, brown eyes serious in his compelling face. Pausing halfway out of his chair, he set his beer on the table, a signal in man-speak she didn't need interpreting. "Anything in particular you don't want?"

The unexpected question cracked her siren persona just a little. Without thinking about it, she gave him the truth. "Food is food. I eat so I don't die." He gave a surprised grunt of laughter, smiled carefully and moved off.

Not bothering to be subtle, she watched him cross the room to the bar, enjoying the easy stride and lean form encased in worn jeans. She'd been right – he was a feast for the eyes. After speaking to the young guy on duty for a few seconds, he came back, eyes shifting quickly over the room. Faith sat a little straighter at the seemingly automatic gesture. What had he been looking for? Or had it merely been a habit? One she recognized since she did it every time she entered a room.

Before she had time to answer her own questions, he was at the table, sitting across from her once again. She shook off the annoying thoughts and focused on getting her goal. Now that she had his attention it shouldn't be that hard. "What's your name?" That was as good a way to get started as any, although his name didn't really matter, just his body. She'd noticed some guys had a thing for names.

"Jack." He said it like she'd jabbed skewers underneath his fingernails. "And what can I call you?"

She smiled, just the tiniest bit, at his carefully phrased words. This one wasn't stupid, not by a long shot. And again, she found the truth spilling from her lips. "Faith. My name's Faith."

That drew his eyes from his reclaimed bottle to her face. "Sounds like there's a story in there somewhere."

"If there is I don't know it." Where the hell had that come from? While it wasn't the least bit informative, she'd never even gotten that close to telling someone about herself in years. He gave an odd sounding grunt and took a long swallow of beer. Draping herself over the back of the chair, she waited for him to ask the inevitable questions. What was she doing here? Why was she alone? How long did they have to hang around before he could take her someplace a little quieter? She'd heard them all in her life, had even started some of them herself. But they never came.

She grabbed her bottle, the chilly condensation wetting her fingers, shocking in its suddenness. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she put the beer to her lips, but couldn't choke down more than a small sip. This was not going the way she'd planned and her uncharacteristic lack of forward momentum started a tiny knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

Jack continued his silent perusal of her face, eyes darting every now and then down to the table and over the other people in the bar before returning. Discomfort was quickly turning into uneasiness, not a feeling she was accustomed to. About to chuck it all and leave, hot and gorgeous notwithstanding, she froze when he spoke, his voice quiet yet carrying easily over the din of the crowd.

"How old are you, Faith?"

Staring into his brown eyes, she found she couldn't look away and had to force her standard response past a suddenly tight throat. "Old enough to know what I want."

His eyes bored into hers, his face serious, and yet she couldn't see any judgment in either. He simply sat, waiting for her to answer truthfully, his attention never wavering from her. He didn't look at his bottle, didn't scan the room, didn't fidget restlessly in the silence of their little bubble in the busyness of a Friday night. She couldn't break his gaze, couldn't look away from his undemanding eyes. And yet it was as if those brown eyes were compelling her to tell him, to trust him. His face gave away nothing, a calm mask of patience, the clean lines she'd admired from the bar thrown into sharp relief by his stillness.

He was older than she'd realized, the fact suddenly clicked into her brain. Quite a bit older, but the way he'd moved and carried himself had shouted an age at least a decade younger than the scattering of grey in his hair and the lightly engraved lines of his face now spoke. For some reason her age-o-meter had failed her with Jack, but somehow it didn't seem to matter as they stared across the short distance of the table. He repeated, even more quietly than before, "How old are you?"

This time the truth fell out without thought. "Seventeen." The fact she'd just told him she was a legal minor nursing a beer in a public bar didn't register until her voice was hanging in the air between them. Once it hit, she pushed back from the table almost frantically, mind in shock at her stupidity, her lack of caution. The veneer of sophisticated confidence disappeared at the sheer panic that filled her. She couldn't afford any trouble with the cops. She had to get to California, to Sunnydale. This was just one tiny stopover on her trip.

Moving faster than her stunned brain could register, Jack had her forearm gripped tightly with his right hand, not hurting, simply holding her in place half out of her chair. Her hand flew to his wrist, ready to break it if necessary when he spoke.

"I'm not going to turn you in, Faith."

She paused, hand floating an inch above his flesh, her eyes narrowed and meeting his suspiciously. It didn't matter she'd been ready to go with him less than a minute ago and get hot and sweaty with his body. Now he was a possible threat to her freedom and that couldn't be tolerated. And yet his voice called to her, asked her to listen, to trust him. She stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. It was the best she could manage with her heart pounding in her chest and everything within her shrieking at her to simply run.

"Let's just sit down and eat. I'm not going to tell if you won't."

And then he sat back in his chair, hand trailing off her arm, leaving the decision up to her. It was that tiny act that settled her weight onto the chair again, her gaze never relinquishing his. What was his game? First he turns her down, then he invites her to eat with him, even bought the damn food. His face was carefully blank as he stared back at her, not giving anything away. She'd been around all kinds of people in her life, from the nicest, sweetest old ladies to the ones who'd knife their own mothers for a piece of bread. None of them had mastered the fine art of blank-face as the man sitting across from her.

But somehow she knew he wasn't lying to her despite the lack of facial expression. Something inside her urged her to sit back and listen to every word he had to say. With little thought and even less motion, she flipped the chair around to sit normally, one leg crossed over the other. The restlessness that had driven her into the bar was slowly melting under Jack's silence.

Minutes passed without words, each taking the random swallow of their drinks. She heard one of the waitresses approaching over the background noise of the bar long before she reached their table. Two baskets of fried goodness were deposited before them, two napkin-wrapped sets of utensils, a red plastic bottle of ketchup and a yellow one of mustard following with a dull thump.

Her stomach growled loudly as the scents assaulted her nostrils, almost drowning out Jack's quiet thanks to the waitress. Pushing one of the baskets closer to her, he slid the other in front of him and grabbed the bottle of ketchup. She watched in silence as he doused his fries in the red sauce then unrolled a knife and fork from their paper shroud. "So what's the deal?" It came out with no warning, surprising her with its abruptness.

"No deal," he replied, not looking up from his grease covered meal. "Just dinner before you head out."

"How do you know I'm leaving? Maybe I live here." Her fingers twitched unconsciously toward a fry, bringing it to her mouth before she could stop it.

Jack finally looked up, swallowed his bite and gestured with a new fry. "Let's just say I recognize the signs."

"Good Samaritan, huh?" She ignored his knowing gaze, pushed aside the tiny flare of curiosity and concentrated on the food in front of her. Her stomach rumbled happily with each bite as she waited for him to answer. The pause was long enough to have her frowning, chicken strip sinking back to the basket.

"Something like that." And then he went back to making precise cuts in his own chicken.

A little weirded out, but with a stomach still clamoring for food, Faith allowed her hands to bring the chicken and fries to her lips. She waited for the questions to start, for the what-are-you-doing-out-alone spiel, but they never came. Just quiet and grease in the midst of a Friday night. The silence that had surrounded them while they'd waited for the order to arrive came back, separating them from the rest of the crowded bar, an island of stillness in her mad dash across the country. Without meaning to let it happen, her shoulders relaxed and the tensed muscles of her back eased from the cramped rock they'd become over the last five days.

She lost all sense of time as they ate, the swirl of people and music strangely muted in their little space around the table. Finally, she pushed the basket away and settled back into the chair to watch Jack finish what was left of his fries. It was suddenly imperative to know. "So really, why'd you buy me dinner?"

His eyebrows flew up, face a study in surprise. "You really want to know?" At her nod, he wiped both hands on his napkin and met her eyes solidly. "You looked like you needed it. And I've got nowhere else to be."

There was a world of story in those short sentences and Faith shook off an uncharacteristic curiosity to find out what that story was. It wasn't any of her business and she had more than enough trouble with her own life. She didn't need anyone else's sob story to add to the mix. But she couldn't keep her mouth shut completely. Jack had done something nice for her. She supposed she owed him, at least a little bit. "So you travel the city looking for women in need of dinner in your spare time?"

"Not hardly." The snort of derisive laughter seemed to come from deep within his gut. "I'm not known for any kind of White Knight sensibilities."

A blinding flash of insight curled her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. She'd been trying to decipher that look in his eyes, the utter blankness that matched the face, ever since she'd sat down. His self-mocking had snapped it into place. She recognized those eyes because she saw them in every mirror. Whatever had happened to Jack, to make him have "nowhere else to be," he'd lost something or someone to put that look there.

Instantly, she shied away from the thought, discomfort too tame a word for the terrible twisting that rose in her gut. She shoved the feeling aside, locking it back into the hole it was supposed to stay in. Mouth opening to rush past the moment of weakness, the words stopped when he spoke, leaning forward over the table.

"Look, let's not make anything more out of it than it is. We were both hungry. We both needed to eat. End of story." He shrugged lightly, eyes suddenly holding a small flame of mischief. "Besides, you saved me the hassle of fighting off my adoring masses."

That surprised a laugh out of her. Not just some tiny giggle or a little snort, but a full blown laugh, one she hadn't felt in longer than she cared to remember. When she finally came back up for air, Jack's face held a smile. It was a small one, but it was still a smile. "Well, I'm glad I could be of service."

"So am I." He seemed taken aback by the realization, as if he hadn't expected to feel anything at all. A raised voice from a nearby table pulled his gaze for a moment, eyes narrowing as he scanned the area. After a long few seconds, he turned back, met her watching stare, then glanced to his watch. She knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. "I need to head out. You'll be okay?"

The question seemed to have been pulled out of him reluctantly, as if he really did want to know, but didn't like the fact that he did. She stopped the smile that tugged at her lips before it could make an appearance. This stranger, this man she'd known for not even a couple of hours, showed more concern for her than she'd seen in years. How wigged out was that? "I'll be fine."

His eyes searched her face intently for a long moment before he nodded and climbed to his feet. He held his hand out to her from a safe few feet away, clearly expecting her to take it. Standing slowly, she stepped closer and wrapped her hand in his much larger one. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome." It sounded as rusty as her unsolicited thanks, as if he hadn't used the words in a long time. "Be safe, Faith." After one final, serious look, he turned and left, his tall figure moving gracefully through the people around the bar.

And then he was gone.

A strange lump filled her throat as the door swung shut, the normal sounds of a crowded bar filling her ears once again. What was wrong with her? She shook her head sharply, clearing the fog. There'd been nothing special about him, he was just a man, okay a nice man, but a man nonetheless. Pushing to her feet, she scanned the customers to see if anyone was paying her more attention than normal for a weekend night. All clear, she thought, heading for the door. With Jack gone and her jitters strangely calmed, there was no need to waste any more time. She had to get to California.

Clearing the door in a wash of warm beer smell and grease, she shoved her hands into her pockets against the chill of the night air. Her feet stopped abruptly, her left hand fisting over the something in her pocket that wasn't supposed to be there. Without thought, she spread her feet, seeking a good balanced stance, eyes darting everywhere for movement. When nothing but the light wind answered, she drew her hand from the pocket. And stared down at the bills in her white knuckled grip.

Somehow Jack had managed to slip forty, no, sixty dollars into her pocket without her knowing. A shivering tingle worked its way down her spine. He hadn't touched her, except for a hand on one arm when she'd tried to leave and a handshake when he did. A grudging smile covered her face at his talent. Damn, he was good. No one got past her defenses.

She tightened her fist over the money, somehow not insulted at his presumption that she'd needed it, because she did. With what he'd given her, she could take a bus the rest of the way instead of hitching. How had he known? Another searching look around the parking lot gave her nothing. Jack was gone.

Shaking her head, Faith eased from her defensive stance and tucked the money back into her pocket. "Thanks, Jack." The words whispered through the air, fluttering to find a set of ears to land on.

The door opened behind her, breaking her frozen moment of paralysis. She had a bus to catch and a Slayer to find.

It was time to move on.

* * *


	2. Has Two Sides

TITLE: . . . Has Two Sides

AUTHOR: Eleri McCleod

EMAIL: complete

CATEGORY: Challenge response, drama, series

PAIRINGS: Faith/Jack friendship

SPOILERS: BtVS – none; SG-1 – none

SEASON: BtVS – 3; SG-1 – pre-series

SERIES/SEQUEL INFO: Part 2 of the "Worth Fighting For" Series. Can be read on its own, but will make more sense if the first story in the series, "Worth Fighting For', is read first.

CONTENT LEVEL: FR13, C, 13+, take your pick

CONTENT WARNINGS: little bit of language, sexual innuendo

SUMMARY: Nine years ago, Faith and Jack met by accident. Neither could ever imagine the future their brief encounter would set in motion.

DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vamipre Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy . Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. I'm just borrowing them for a little while and will return them unharmed. No copyright infringement is intended.

ARCHIVE: TtH, Jackfic, Gateworld, any others please ask

AUTHORS' NOTES: Faith has had ample opportunity to tell her side of things. I thought it was time to let Jack have a voice for a little while. vbg As always, any and all feedback is appreciated.

* * *

. . . Has Two Sides

* * *

Retirement sucked.

It was boring with a capital B. Dull, tedious, mind-numbing, monotonous and repetitive also came to mind. But most of all, it was boring.

Jack O'Neill's day had consisted of mowing a lawn that hadn't needed it, washing a truck that already sparkled in the bright Colorado sun and rearranging his fairly impressive music collection. All in all, a highly productive day of doing nothing.

He hated it.

Kicking out a chair, he sank into the seat with his back to the wall. Some habits he didn't even bother trying to break any more. The beer was cold as it slid down his throat, emphasizing the fact he'd forgotten to eat dinner. Great. That was the icing on the cake. He set the bottle on the table, spinning it idly between his hands. It was time to find something to do with his life. He couldn't go back to the military even if he wanted to. He'd retired, given up his commission. There was nothing left for him there.

Movement caught his eye on the other side of the table, but he didn't track it any farther. No one bothered him in here.

"You and I are going to make each other's night."

It took a second for him to realize the blatantly sexual words were aimed in his direction. Eyes flying from the beer now sitting on his table to the face above it, he saw the young woman who'd been leaning against the bar when he'd ordered. Black leather pants covered her lower half and a tank top that barely deserved the name backed up her verbal offer. He'd been hit on a few times since his divorce had been finalized, but none of them had been quite so open about it. Flattered as he was by the idea, she was way too young for him, even if he had been interested in a little fun. "I'm not looking for any company tonight, but thanks for the offer."

That wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. Her come-hither smile froze for a split second before she took a long drink from the bottle she carried. He knew the show was for his benefit, a little looksie for the stupid guy, but he'd passed the point in his life where one night stands could even pretend to fulfill what they promised.

"You don't know what you're missing," she countered, obviously not willing to give up so easily.

He smiled slightly, head tilting to one side as he told her the absolute truth. "I'm sure you'll find a substitute easily enough."

"My mistake."

He was positive she thought she was portraying the epitome of confidence, sure of what she wanted and what she was doing. But she wasn't talking to just anyone – Jack was a master of the game and he could see the uncertainty buried deep, the fear she probably didn't even acknowledge. For some reason, he couldn't let her go. Something about her called to him, made him want to keep her close. If he let her walk away she'd find someone else to proposition, someone who wouldn't be as hesitant as he to accept her offer.

"Hold on a second." The words were out before he'd even thought about speaking. Where the hell had that come from?

Turning back, she raised an eyebrow, face as easy to read as a book to him. She thought he'd changed his mind. "Yeah?"

"You look hungry," Jack said, the words practically stuttering out. What was he doing? She didn't need him wasting her time when he had no intention of leaving the bar with her. But hadn't he just been griping that his life was boring? Maybe he could do something for someone else since he couldn't for himself. This young lady looked to him like she needed a friend more than a lover at the moment. "Sit down and I'll buy you some dinner."

He had to give her credit, she didn't even twitch when her stomach grumbled quietly at his offer. Although with the noise level in the bar she probably assumed he hadn't heard it. A long few seconds passed before she shrugged and accepted with a tossed off, "All right." He hid a grin as she reversed a chair across the table and straddled it with ease.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a minute." Pausing halfway out of his chair, he set his beer on the table and met her eyes briefly. "Anything in particular you don't want?"

"Food is food. I eat so I don't die."

He gave a surprised grunt of laughter, smiled carefully and moved off without waiting to see if she had anything else to say. She'd either be there when he got back or she wouldn't. He ordered quickly, two chicken strips baskets with extra fries. Something told him the young lady hadn't eaten in longer than she'd ever admit. And just where had this Galahad syndrome come from anyway? The last few months of his life had been one never ending study in drudgery after another. Even before that he hadn't been one for saving damsels in distress, no matter what some people seemed to think about him.

Food order complete and paid for, he crossed the room once again, eyes automatically scanning the crowd for trouble. Years of training and experience were impossible to turn off, retired or not. Nothing but the normal noise and rowdiness of a weekend night in a bar met his gaze. He reached his table, vaguely surprised to find her still sitting there, waiting for his return.

"What's your name?"

He'd admit it, she surprised him. He wouldn't have thought names were really big on her list of necessary knowledge for the evening. Just went to show what he knew. "Jack," he answered, voice suddenly tight. Relax, man. It's not like she can track you down with a first name. You invited her to sit down, remember? "And what can I call you?"

She smiled, just the tiniest bit. Apparently she'd caught the careful phrasing. "Faith. My name's Faith."

That drew his eyes from his bottle back to her face. He could have sworn she'd given him her real name. A swift evaluation of her expression confirmed it – she seemed as surprised as he was. "Sounds like there's a story in there somewhere." And just where was this Mr. Chatty coming from? It wasn't like him to make personal inquiries, especially with someone he'd only just met. Jeez, maybe he did need to search out a little companionship. He obviously wasn't himself tonight.

"If there is I don't know it."

The grunt came from the bottom of his gut and settled over the table like an exclamation point. Faith settled herself against the chair, face expectant. For what, he had no idea. After a silent minute, she grabbed her beer and took a swallow. Jack's eyes floated between her face, the table and the bar in the quiet of their table. He had no idea what to say, no idea what she expected from him. Hoping their order would arrive soon, he downed another bit of his beer. It was out of his mouth before his brain caught up. "How old are you, Faith?"

She froze, her eyes flying up to meet his. "Old enough to know what I want."

Their eyes locked together and Jack found himself reevaluating the situation. Who was he to judge someone who hadn't done anything more than look for oblivion with a stranger? He'd done far worse in his life. Hell, he'd stomped all over the rules of polite society for most of his adult years. So what if – and he was positive he hadn't missed this one – Faith was quite a bit under the legal drinking age for Colorado? And yet some perverse part of him wanted her to admit it aloud. "How old are you?"

Maybe it was the quiet way he asked or maybe it was the complete lack of condemnation in the tone, but this time she answered. "Seventeen."

He watched the panic hit her and kept the smile under control. She didn't know he could care less she was underage. The confident siren disappeared in a blink, replaced by a trapped animal ready to run. He moved without conscious thought, his hand sudden just there on her forearm as she lifted herself out of the chair. "I'm not going to turn you in, Faith." She paused, her hand floating an inch above his wrist, her eyes narrowed and meeting his suspiciously. What she planned to do with that hand he had no idea, but she seemed to think she could do something to stop him if she wanted. "Let's just sit down and eat. I'm not going to tell if you won't."

He slid his hand off her arm, fingers trailing away as he sat back, leaving the decision up to her. Keeping his face completely blank, he held her gaze, wondering what thoughts were flying through her brain. There had been a second there, just the briefest of moments, when he'd thought she'd actually try to rip his hand off her arm. A glint of steel shone in her eyes as she finally lowered herself back into her chair, gaze never leaving his. And, God help him, even knowing exactly how much he really shouldn't be reacting to her, he found himself appreciating the fire in her. This was a young lady who wouldn't let circumstances dictate her life. Oh, she'd follow where the wind blew her, but she wouldn't bow down in surrender to it.

With a suddenness that almost had his eyebrows raising, she flipped her chair around and settled back, one leg crossed over the other. Jack nodded and reached for his beer, content with their mutual understanding.

He'd stopped counting swallows when one of the waitresses delivered the fried chicken strips, ketchup, mustard and utensils with a quiet efficiency. "Thanks," he said, ignoring the loud rumbling sound from across the table and pushing one of the red plastic baskets toward Faith. Taking the ketchup bottle, he upended it and drowned his fries in the bright red liquid. The battered knife and fork clattered against the table as he unrolled the paper napkin.

"So what's the deal?"

The suspicion in her voice kept his eyes on the chicken instead of looking up at her. "No deal," he replied, carefully lifting a fry to his mouth. "Just dinner before you head out."

"How do you know I'm leaving? Maybe I live here." Eyes still lowered, he saw her fingers snatch a fry and bring it to her mouth.

Jack finally looked up, swallowed his bite and gestured with a new fry, sure he'd won a tiny victory he hadn't known he was fighting for. "Let's just say I recognize the signs."

"Good Samaritan, huh?" Another fry disappeared from her basket.

His voice froze, simply vanished at the question. That was the last description he'd ever use for himself. Too many people had died because of him, too many had almost been blown to kingdom come because he hadn't cared whether he lived or died. No, Good Samaritan was the the farthest thing from truth. When he realized she was still waiting for an answer, he swallowed hard and forced his mouth to form words. "Something like that."

Thankfully, Faith let the subject drop and focused on her food, letting Jack do the same. The automatic action of eating allowed him the time to settle back into his little cocoon of solitude, each precise cut he made into the chicken a carefully thought out motion. They ate in a surprisingly comfortable silence, the noise of the bar somehow forming its own barrier around their table, keeping everything and everyone else out. Idly, Jack wondered if she realized she was relaxing, the stiff set of her shoulders loosening ever so gradually. By the time she pushed her basket away, every fry and bit of chicken nothing but a greasy memory, he'd relaxed himself, the tension he'd carried since Charlie's death easing the tiniest bit. Before he had time to do more than acknowledge that one, Faith leaned back in her chair and eyed him speculatively.

"So really, why'd you buy me dinner?" He got the feeling she finally understood he wasn't leaving the bar with her.

"You really want to know?" At her nod, he wiped both hands on his napkin and met her eyes solidly. "You looked like you needed it. And I've got nowhere else to be." When her face twitched slightly, Jack realized exactly what he'd just admitted. He sounded like some pathetic old guy, lonely and alone. It was definitely time to find some temporary companionship. He was turning into a hermit, damn it. That was the last thing he needed with his history. Too much solitude equaled bad times coming.

Just when he'd decided she wasn't going to continue, she smiled, a half-tilt of her lips, and asked, "So you travel the city looking for women in need of dinner in your spare time?"

"Not hardly." The snort of derisive laughter came from way down deep within his gut. "I'm not known for any kind of White Knight sensibilities." The self-mocking joke did the exact opposite of what he'd intended. Her face and body stilled, eyes going serious. Meeting those eyes, he suddenly saw someone who was far older than her chronological years, someone who'd seen more than she ever should have. He saw his own eyes staring at him from across the table and knew she recognized it as well. Her mouth opened, to say what he had no idea, but he beat her to it, leaning over the table and breaking the uncomfortable moment of sympathetic resonance. "Look, let's not make anything more out of it than it is. We were both hungry. We both needed to eat. End of story." He forced a small shrug, almost desperate to get away from the moment. "Besides, you saved me the hassle of fighting off my adoring masses."

That surprised a laugh out of her. Not just some tiny giggle or a little snort, but a full blown laugh, one that filled the air around them and pushed back the blackness that had threatened to take over them both. Her face was alight with humor when she met his eyes and he couldn't have stopped the smile from lifting his lips if he'd tried. The laugh was still present in her voice as she drawled, "Well, I'm glad I could be of service."

"So am I," he said, somewhat taken aback to realize he wasn't lying. The last thing he'd been looking for when he'd headed out the door that evening was a dinner companion, but now he was glad she'd approached him. They both had needed it.

A raised voice from a nearby table pulled his gaze, eyes narrowing as he scanned the bar quickly. After a long moment, he turned back, met her assessing stare, then glanced to his watch. Huh. Where had the evening gone? He couldn't remember the last time he'd lost track of time, especially since. . . No need to go there, Jack. "I need to head out," he said, some small part of him quietly reluctant to part company with her. "You'll be okay?" Faith's lips twitched once, as if she wanted to smile, but wouldn't let it appear. Irony was heavy on her face for a split second before she hid it away. Wondering where she'd learned the skill, and why, he kept his expression still. She really wasn't any concern of his. Really. So why was his hand searching surreptitiously though his wallet for whatever bills he had stashed away?

"I'll be fine."

Hand fisting under the table around the three bills he'd found, he searched her face intently for a long moment before he nodded and climbed to his feet. There was nothing else he could do for her. He had his own issues to deal with. And did he really want to contemplate screwing up someone else's life? He held a hand out to her from a few feet away, money hidden in his left hand. Faith stood slowly and stepped closer, never knowing he used her motion to disguise the the way he slipped the bills into her front pocket.

Her grip was firm in his, somehow not a surprise after their moment of shared understanding. Voice sounding as if she didn't use the words very often, she nodded once. "Thanks for dinner."

"You're welcome," he replied, his tone surprisingly rusty as well. Had it really been that long since he'd helped someone? "Be safe, Faith." After one final look into her eyes, he turned and left, weaving his way through the crowd. He felt the weight of her gaze on his back until the door shut behind him with a clank.

Blinking against the brightness of the overhead light, he shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way over to his truck. Hand reaching out to unlock the door, he paused, an unconscious smile on his face. He felt good, light, as if a huge weight had been chucked off his shoulders and over a cliff. The smile widened slightly and his hand finally finished the halted motion. Sir Galahad, that was him.

The distinct thunk of the bar's door whirled him around, back against the truck, body tucked into the shadows around him. He hadn't felt a threat, but instinct had taken over and he never argued with instinct.

Faith stood in the doorway, clearly visible in the light. Two steps out of the door and she froze, her right hand flying out of her pocket. Body dropping slightly, her feet shifted into a defensive crouch as her eyes flew over the parking lot. Appreciating her instantaneous reaction even as he wondered how it'd become so ingrained, Jack stayed motionless. For some reason he didn't want her to find him, didn't want to have to acknowledge his spontaneous action. After a few moments, her left hand joined the other in the chill of the night air, her body still suspiciously tensed. He saw the instant she figured out what he'd done. A smile teased her lips up, eyes never leaving the cash in her fist.

Her gaze finally came back up for another sweeping look around the parking lot. Still hidden in the shadows, Jack kept perfectly motionless, watching with an unexpected tightness in his chest as she eased from her defensive crouch and tucked the money back into her pocket.

"Thanks, Jack."

The words whispered through the air, fluttering across the distance to his froze form. His chest gave one convulsive heave before loosening in an almost painful moment of release. The bar's door opened behind her, spurring her into motion and she walked quickly through the parking lot into the night, a sense of purpose in every stride. Jack didn't move until she was long out of sight, his brain carefully avoiding asking any awkward questions he didn't have answers for.

Finally, he got the truck opened and climbed inside, body on autopilot as he cranked the engine, put on his seatbelt and shifted into drive. Foot paused on the brake, he stared out into the night, eyes tracing the path Faith had taken. She hadn't said a word about it, but as he'd told her, he'd recognized the signs all too easily. "Good luck, Faith. I hope you find what you're looking for."

One final look and he let his foot off the brake, easing the big truck through the parking lot.

It was time to go home.

* * *

Part Two of the "Worth Fighting For" series is complete. Thanks go out to all the readers. Keep a watch out for Part Three!

Eleri


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